


Hawaiian Hotline

by savaged



Category: Hotline Miami (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Male Bonding, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 23:21:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4980598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savaged/pseuds/savaged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the last moments of Jacket in Hawaii, and other memories and moments crystalizing the complexity of the(ir) human affection.</p><p> </p><p>written in second & first person</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. DEPARTURE

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a long time ago reaching the summer. It's like those memories escape from my fingertips as I try to touch them.

Loved you like a brother, held you by your arms I laid you down as blood poured from you; like every word you hadn't said got the courage to come out from your organs. And your heart was pumping the rhythm of those Austronesian chants, loud over the war sirens (you've talked about them in dreams), while eating in the cafeteria studying the blonde girl from the next table; and Barnes goes on gulping peach beer because he says it's like kissing sweet velvet, but he doesn't know what your lips are made of.

Your eyes are questioning and the picture from the last minutes I get to study your face and gestures strikes me. Tight-lipped, pale; a lock of wheat over your previously tanned, reddened forehead that I blow away. It's sweaty under the gunpowder smear of my fingerprints, and I can't distinguish between the dirt stains I leave on your visage and the dark shadows that the heavy foliage draws, blocking the last sighs of this place's eternal sunset.

You said the scarlet sun made us look lazy at these hours. And it smelled of cherries and fresh washed clothes, and dragon fruit and such. Red. The shade your cheeks go when my lips nuzzle your neck.

I wonder what death smells like to you now.

Somewhere behind I lost Daniels and Barnes. The place is crumbling, chaos screams awakening. I know the roof will be falling on us soon. I know because I haven't felt as much anticipation in my life. I have been through hurricanes, falling airplanes, broken parachutes and desert storms. And I have been through you, so you kind of get the _calm before shit happens_ vibe of this stuff, the fear of enduring a night without stars. While I think of it, you shiver. It was calmer in the South.

Then there's this infinity in a vacuum you create with a simple smile, and maybe you're unconscious after all these blood loss we've caused (this mess we've caused,) because you feel cold but a smirk is pressed there where something's struggling to come out.

"No need to thank me," I help you hold that. "It's on the house." You keep the polaroid so you see the full picture of what this hawaiian vacation, a paradise painted with war, has meant to me. Besides, you'd have done the same thing for me.

 

 


	2. RICHARD

Cocky. A reckless bastard, and always a loner. What other combination is as toxic as that one?

The flumes of a nasty cigarette dance under pounds of wet heat and heavy thunder -it's like you never get enough of it, you keep smoking as if you were a fucking chimney and blink the sweat of your eyelids away. Your fingers pull the tangled streaks at the back of my head, you stink of dying animals and nicotine. For the record, I'd rather you drink.

Your palms are sweaty when we chill by the beach, surrounded by the same places you encounter in nightmares. If we focus on the waves, they rise up to the bold pink sun covering the horizon, and then melt down in vicious iridescence (or, decadence) running over neon cyan waters. The splash feels like clenching your fists around silk, sinking your feet in sand that's been under cold shadow for a long time, sinking your teeth in a bar of soft sweet chocolate. Nibbling on your lower lip. You've created that habit, so when the Colonel speaks I tend to catch you with the corner of my eye ripping a piece of dry skin, drooling on scarlet flesh.

The damn stubble goes silver under the moon and down your jaw; my medals glisten and Daniels pushes us onto our next mission and against the table of weapons. You put one of your cigarettes between my lips.

Must be the thickness of your shoulder blades and the easiness of your arms, the smooth flow of your hands, the crazy ability of your fingers. If you saw yourself play with guns I'd never have to take another compliment from you again.

I gently blow onto your neck and the smoke swirls, reaching the window, confusing the helmeted poor kid on the other side of the wall, the infamous enemy, inside a house in which we're about to break.

"Can you hold the door for me?"

You nod, ever so sweetly, and meters ahead muffled grunts and slashed limbs open the way for the grand entrance. Barnes crashes the crystals.

I fix your blood stained shirt. You squint at me and shove me away.


	3. TONY

My hair floats upon the waves; reddened seaweed catching sun dust and salty drops. My glasses stayed by the shore at your feet and I drift away on a piece of broken wood board (the one we stole from the dark shack, hidden between the tiger heads, late victims of a mind-blowing taxidermy job. You caressed the teeth of one, petted its head and named him 'Tony'.) As Daniels took home the other piece, I carried the mutilated board on my back feeling every small piece of loose polyurethane carve into my skin. A set of painted lilac flowers crowned its shelling surface, a sad image of pretty decay -you lit up a thin one right by my side.

We spent our big afternoon counting fish and making bets over the amount that swam East or West. Forever moving, the flow started to die as the moon appeared and your eyelids fell, heavy, like your head on my still wet lap.

I fail to see how each stair we climbed led us to such a gigantic fall. I don't recall the summit before the jump, or the tender warning of the imminent breakdown. Fate's cruel and we're meaningless, mourning the things we didn't know we could lose; mourning the loss of things we still have. The only thing I've had is you, and this ghost squad.

Detached and selfish, the Colonel has called you, but there isn't a line to draw the difference between selfish and selfless in our sense. Never not proud of giving all of myself to you.

I fell asleep on the board and woke up in the middle of the night with your voice yelling for me from meters away; the coast a blurred line and waves as deep and dark as your angry eyes. You heaved, not in your best physical conditions nor capable of breathing much, and kicked the waters pushing my board towards the sand. My dizziness and stupid haze let me smile and surround your neck, sinking your head underwater. There, I started to wrestle with you, as waves hugged us below the starry sky and something touched my feet.

Seaweed caught the beard. The lights of the base at the shore called for us; I became tired of holding your arms back and your violent attempts of shaking yourself free. Damp headbumps against my chest, had to let you go before the increased pressure of your shorts against my crotch. Trembling, you turned around and smacked my face. I laughed.

"Why the long face? It's just a game, man."

I swam around. Your face was made of the enchantment of daydreams and the raw realization that they're just that. They won't become nothing else. Clouds above us, I rubbed the hairs on my forehead.

"You don't look well, have you gotten a cold?" I hold you tight. "We'll get you a thicker jacket."

___

 

"Do you like cars?"

Ukelele strings fall around us like hot drops of a tropical storm in summer. This storm makes the speakers vibrate and our feet tap the floor, stares trapped by the pink cloudy shapes smeared on the turquoise firmament.

Under my fingers, the lines are curved. I play with the chords, sway them around, cradle the melody and scratch it until it's worn out. I work better with guns, but it's far more calm when I play the small guitar.

Daniels shifts on a seat and flips a page of his magazine.

"Do you like cars?" he asks again, now softly, looking at you. "I have seen some sick models here, you should check them out."

The magazine's cover has a bikini girl sprawled over a MacLaren. You stare for long and nod. Daniels lets out a scorn chuckle.

"You keep looking at that babe, must be one hell of a ride, I tell ya." He leans back on the futon and spreads his thighs. He smacks his lap with one hand and cups himself through the camo pants. "Boy, do I need that blondie babe from the cafeteria now?"

"Shut it," Barnes whines. "You're so fucking drunk."

"I don't want you hangover by tomorrow morning, Daniels." I set the ukelele aside. You're blushing ever since the cover of the magazine. "Get some sleep."

Daniels shoots Barnes a glare, then deflates. "Fine. Won't pay for your drinks next time, asshole."

___

 

Time flows weirdly in the space we've created in our precarious dormitory -the movie posters hanging down naked brick walls announcing summer thrillers. It's madness, some of them, depicting fallen eyes and headless children, while under the one of the lady in black you fall on your mattress and sigh, unbuttoning your shirt.

"..."

You follow my eyes and rest your back on the pillow, kicking your shoes off. Bare-backed, a sneeze shakes your face and you scrunch up your nose- there's a "bless you" as the closest window gets closed.

I lie besides you. I yawn and nudge your ribcage with my knee, as if we're ignorant to the fact we have moved our beds together as a call for attention more than a need. Like small children with no adults around. We're not good children when we're supposed to be asleep.

Answering the nudge, you throw your shirt at me, already reaching for my belt, already forgetting everything that's been pulsing through your skull and threading whatever keeps you alive. Whatever puts a smirk on your lips, when my arousal becomes uncomfortable to be kept locked and I let escape a deep breath. Sometimes product of anxiety, others of the emotion I get from being so at ease in your hands.

_Control me._

"Don't let me finish, just... Take your time. You know? I would have loved to know you before we enrolled."

You move your eyes up and furrow your brow, twisting your lips.

"I mean, we could have been good, man. I'm not saying I'm sad about it, it'd just have been nice."

We build the tension to the highest peaks, like I'm some type of high off ecstasy Dionysus discovering Hyacinthus for the first time. The climax is never rushed, but pushed and taken back again and again, like you'll never give me that special wave to ride and I'll keep waiting by the board forever. Or maybe you're _that_ forever, the waves, and the climax; you're my all -that's my mind's claim as I come, arriving at your hand.

Your lips are shy when I peck them. You smile when I tickle your cheeks with my beard. You push me away, and I fall into your embrace.

 


End file.
